Why’s He Calling Me Meat?

J’s baseball team, the Griller’s, are having a tough season.  What they lack in offense and numbers in the “W” column, they make up for in pluck and love of the game.  J never complains about losing.  Instead, he is enjoying getting to play all these new fangled positions that t ball lacked.

After some solid outings as a real life pitcher (…he naturally throws breaking shit.  That’s my boy!), he got it into his head that he wanted a go at catcher.  Some of that might have to do with my pronouncement that in the bigs, the most important position is the catcher.  More likely, it has to do with the fact that you get to wear a lot of really kick ass gear.  J and I are both fans of kick ass gear.

Saturday, J got his first go behind the plate.  Granted, he isn’t calling pitches yet, but he did dive around a bit to keep balls from getting past him, and made some throws to second.  What kills me is how all the sudden he looks like a real ball player.

All Geared Up

My knees hurt just looking at him

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